


"Hello Loves"

by writingwithmolls



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, Fluff, Multi, Polyamory, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:35:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27930850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingwithmolls/pseuds/writingwithmolls
Summary: Byleth finally gets two tattoos that she's been waiting for, one for Edelgard and one for Dorothea.
Relationships: Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg, Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Dorothea Arnault/My Unit | Byleth, Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 11
Kudos: 46





	"Hello Loves"

Even after the appointment is long over and the words have been inked into her skin, Byleth finds herself smiling at the new tattoos. Hapi needs to keep looking over as she’s driving to remind her not to touch them, but Byleth is content with just sitting in the passenger’s seat, palms up and staring at her wrists. It’s a Wednesday and both of her partners are at work, thinking that she is also at the gym teaching classes. Instead, she’s listening to Hapi’s bad taste in music as the spring air flows through the open window.

“See? It wasn’t that bad, Chatterbox,” Hapi says. She stayed as emotional support, her own sleeve of stars and constellations always drawing Byleth in. The woman takes personal pride in urging others to do the same, pouncing when Byleth mentioned wanting to get ink for the first time. “Took it like a champ. Coco whined.”

Byleth laughs, knowing Constance nearly broke both of her partners’ hands while getting a simple piece. Yuri had sent plenty of videos, but allowed for his hand to be crushed in hers as she gritted her teeth. Hapi didn’t hold Byleth’s hand, but she supposed she had taken the pain well. It wasn’t as terrible as Constance had made it out to be, the music in the shop and the curious questions of the artist enough to distract her from the jabs into her skin.

She had learned during the appointment that among the stars in her friend’s sleeve, there were constellations specifically for her partners: Pisces, Cancer, Leo. Hapi admitted that she had gotten them before they even started dating. It was a testament to their friendship, she had said with a laugh to the tattoo artist.

Tattoos were never something that Byleth ever wanted. The thought of committing something to her skin made her frown, regardless of how many times Hapi or Mercedes insisted tattoos didn’t have to have meaning, they could just be art or something that she liked. To be fair, Byleth is now staring at two pieces with meaning, art,  _ and _ something she liked—loved. She laughs to herself, still overjoyed and swaying to the music.

It’s strange, she realizes, that she was so hesitant to get the work done. Part of Byleth’s heart had still been screaming that it was a commitment, that she couldn’t get an idea that had been so spur of the moment. There were the stupid voices that told her it couldn’t be a commitment she  _ could  _ make, being polyamorous and all, but she is thrilled with them resting on each wrist. Hapi agrees that they were stupid definitions of commitment—the ones that rattled in her head.

“Thank you, Hapi,” she says. The plastic obscures the words underneath, but she finds it difficult to take her eyes off of them. “I love them.”

“I’m glad you got both at the same time,” Hapi responds. They’re stopped at the light and the air is hot without the breeze. The roads are quiet while the world works, children still not out of school for the day. They have plans for lunch and then seeing Hapi’s partners until the work day ends. Byleth knows that she would never be able to sit still and wait for her girlfriends at home, the excitement building and trying to twist itself into worry instead of pure joy. “Imagine if you could only stand getting one and had to come back—your girls would be fighting.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“I know, I know, Chatterbox,” Hapi says. The light is green and she presses on the gas a little too hard and her car juts forward. “Eddy and Dot would understand.”

Byleth continues to look at her wrists, grateful for the push from Hapi to get the pieces she had been yearning for. Both sides mirror one another, handwritten notes of “Hello Loves” with a flower adorning the line.

The phrase had been coined early in their relationship, when they were still college students with busy schedules that never seemed to give. Byleth had practice early in the mornings, so she would tiptoe out of bed and find her clothes, not wanting to disturb the two sleeping women. Edelgard and Dorothea would continue to cling to each other as she grabbed her practice gear and Byleth would pull the pad of paper from Edelgard’s desk and pen a quick note. With the cap between her lips she would write “Hello Loves—see you after classes” and a little “B” in the corner of the paper.

Even now, their notes would be left with the greeting in reference to the other two. It had been easy to find the lines she wanted permanently on her body, Byleth saving a few Post-it notes where the handwriting had been particularly beautiful. She placed them on the counter that morning and Constance helped her pick out her favorite, Balthus joining in with his opinion.

Edelgard’s handwriting is clear on her skin, crisp cursive that lets the words cut through the paper. Byleth always admired her penmanship. It had been adopted in years of boarding school, cultivated by strict family that never let perfection be enough. Byleth loves the way that the top of the “L” is without a loop, neither is the bottom left. They both reach sharp peaks that stand strong next to the small “o.”

Dorothea’s writing is on her left wrist, now, also cursive but in bubbly waves that sing. She said once while writing cards that she adds loops on purpose—how much she loved that the top of the “o” is looped into the previous letter and how “l’s” stand tall. She would always comment on how names with those lowercase “l’s” made for good, beautiful names, citing two examples: Edelgard and Byleth.

Next to each of the lines, Byleth asked for the artist to draw a simple flower. A carnation stands next to Edelgard’s writing while a rose mirrors Dorothea’s. They are their favorite flowers, the ones that they admire at the florist and Byleth brings home when she has errands to run after work. She watches Dorothea cut their stems and arrange them in a vase (or two, when Byleth goes overboard). She loves how they look together when she presses her wrists so they lay next to one another. Their petals are distinct, complimenting each other without being mistaken as the other, one never stealing the other’s glow.

“You are so in love,” Hapi says at the next light, and Byleth nods. Why argue with the teasing when her friend is right? “They are going to cry.”

“Will they?” Byleth asks, curious. Edelgard only cries over nightmares and big gestures. Dorothea cries when she’s sad or when she watches Youtube videos of soldiers coming home after a long time. “I don’t think this is that big of a deal.”

“I think so. It’s very thoughtful, all of it,” Hapi says. “Chatterbox, you make them so happy.”

Byleth hopes Hapi is speaking the truth, because she knows that nothing in the world makes her as genuinely content as her loves. She checks her watch and there’s still five hours until Edelgard and Dorothea get off of work. Byleth has a hard time waiting. Waiting and staring at her love bared on her skin.


End file.
